Come On Get Happy
by missaleatoire
Summary: Post "Bombshells"...House's new take on life looks suspiciously like his old one.
1. Chapter 1

**Come On Get Happy**

_A/N: I am back after a long hiatus...apparently I only get inspired when something terrible happens on House. Also it really depressed me that David Shore said that Huddy is over for good...so here's my take on the aftermath of "Bombshells"._

_Disclaimer: I do not own House. Obviously._

* * *

At the DDX room, the fellows sat around the table reading papers. They looked up as House limped in. He threw his cane on the table, sat down, took out a little orange bottle from his pocket, and casually popped a pill. "What case do you have for me today?" He asked after tipping his head back to swallow it.

Nobody replied. Four pairs of wide-open eyes stared back at him.

"I don't pay you to sit around and gape," House said in a voice that indicated extreme irritation. "A case, come on!"

"Uh…" Masters said, opening a case file, "Twelve year old female. Jerky uncontrollable movements, mood swings, seizure."

"Sounds like Huntington's," Foreman furrowed his brows.

"But it can't be, she's only twelve." Chase said.

"Unless it's early-onset." Taub said. "DRPLA? It has Huntington-like symptoms. Onset can range from puberty to sixty years old."

"Both require genetic tests. Anything else?" House demanded.

"If she had measles recently, it could be subacute sclerosing panencephalitis," Masters said. "We can do an EEG and draw spinal fluid."

"Good, go." House said.

Everyone stood up and gathered their things.

"And Masters, you're fired," House added, opening up a newspaper.

All the fellows froze. "What are you waiting for? I said go!" House barked.

Chase, Foreman and Taub flashed Masters sympathetic looks, and left. Masters hung around. "Why?" She demanded.

"It's quite simple," House said without looking up from his paper. "I needed you because of Cuddy. Now I don't need you anymore."

Masters stared. "That's the only reason? You only kept me because of your girlfriend?" There was an unwelcome tremor in her voice.

"Yes," House said, still not looking up. "Goodbye."

.

Despite Master's best efforts at remaining calm, she had to swallow back a sob as she got her things from her locker. She had thought she was fired before so many times. House had even threatened to have her thrown out of medical school. But this time, it wasn't because her abilities are in question, or that her morals conflicted with House's plans. She was only tolerated because her existence on the team had pleased Cuddy, and she had kept House in check in order for _him_ to please Cuddy. And House evidently did not feel like he needed to please Cuddy anymore. It was so…_unfair._

She was aware of three shadows around her.

"If it matters," Chase said, "It wasn't your fault."

"I _know_ it wasn't!" Masters said, wiping her tears away angrily. "Seriously, what is his _problem_!"

"Cuddy broke up with him, and he's back on Vicodin." Taub summarized.

"If it makes you feel better, at least you don't have to deal with the fallout," Foreman said.

"House can get really nasty when he wants to be," Chase soothed her. "He doesn't really mean what he says."

"But I'm still fired," sighed Masters.

The other fellows nodded.

She swung her bag over her shoulder and shut her locker. "Good bye," she said.

Chase pulled her into an unexpected hug. "You're going to be a great doctor."

When Masters left, the remaining three looked at each other. "Here we go again," said Foreman in a depressed manner.

.

When he glanced up and saw that it was 1PM, Wilson registered the quietness of his morning. It was past lunchtime, and House still hadn't been in to bother him yet. He hadn't seen Cuddy this morning either. He wasn't sure why, but he got an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he was just too used to House's life being disaster-filled.

Wilson walked to House's office, trying to rationalize to himself that he was just being paranoid. House was there for Cuddy throughout her surgery; she recovered well and went home. Everything should be fine, right? Yet the ominous feeling remained.

House was there in his office, looking at something on the computer with his feet up on the table. Wilson felt relieved…until he saw the orange bottle displayed prominently on his desk.

Wilson almost broke the door in his violent effort in opening it. "House," he said. "Tell me that is not what I think it is."

"It's exactly what you think it is," House said, eyes on his screen. His voice had a hard edge that Wilson noticed, and did not like.

"What happened?" Wilson's voice rose an octave. "You're back on Vicodin – why?"

"Cuddy broke up with me," House stated flatly.

"_Why?_" Wilson repeated in frustration.

"Because I took Vicodin," House said and looked straight at Wilson, a challenge in his piercing blue gaze.

It was circular logic, but it made sense for House. "You took Vicodin…to be there for Cuddy….so you wouldn't feel pain," Wilson pieced it together.

"She said that too," House said darkly. "Aren't you both clever."

Wilson sat down in front of House's desk. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," House said.

"We have to talk about this," Wilson said.

"We really don't," House fired back immediately.

"You are back on Vicodin, you are clearly _not _fine."

"I'm not hallucinating your dead girlfriend," House said, "so I am fine."

Wilson stood up. "Playing the dead girlfriend card, House?" He shook his head. "I'll go, but you are getting a drink with me after work tonight."

"Sorry, getting involved with another middle-aged woman might be too soon," House said, and went back to his screen.

* * *

_Please Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Come On Get Happy**

**Ch. 2**

_Thanks for the reviews! I've tried to incorporate some elements from the promos of the next episode. Let me know if it worked._

* * *

House never showed up for drinks; he was two hundred miles away in another town by the time night fell. He booked into a motel, and fell onto the bed.

House's brain was a cold, analytic machine. He worked everything out logically. Here there were no self-indulgent emotions or denial to hamper him. He could acknowledge two cold, hard facts:

Cuddy was his only remaining chance at happiness.

Cuddy was gone.

Conclusion: The rest of his existence was a bleak road leading to a lonely death.

Why couldn't Cuddy understand that he was not like most people? House mused as he got up from his motel room, went to the balcony and looked out. Most people _can_ be supportive at their loved one's deathbed, because most people did not draw an equal sign between themselves and their partner. Once the loved one dies, they will grieve for some months, maybe years. But even if they grieve for the rest of their lives, they still have the knowledge that they_ themselves_ are not lost, that _their_ life can still go on. But House didn't have anything left in his life. On that day, when Cuddy had saved him from himself in his bathroom, she became the only thing that sustained him.

This was why he'd kept her at arm's length for such a long time after the first time they kissed. He knew if he'd let himself fall in love with her, he'd draw that equal sign, and dump all his hope for happiness on her and her only. It had been smart of him to not do that.

But then, the hallucinations happened. Mayfield happened. And he'd been pushed by everyone to let himself love and hope again.

Maybe Fate just really loves to have him as her plaything. But for that few months, he _did_ have Cuddy. Then the fear that he'd lose her hit him hard. Everything he did was to prevent it from happening. And when he thought that she was dying, the fear became a reality. Cuddy was much, much too important.

And now, he had lost Cuddy to something worse than death: his own doings. Cuddy couldn't love him because he was too damaged; it meant that _nobody _could love him.

_I can do better._

_I don't think you can._

How does it feel to lose everything you cared about in the world, and to know you have nobody to blame but yourself?

House took the Vicodin bottle out, and swallowed two pills. On a whim, he grabbed the supporting beam of the balcony, and hoisted himself up onto the balcony railings. He stood there on the railings, first looking at the thin sliver of moon in the night sky. Relishing the feeling of precarious balance. The power over his own life.

Then he looked down.

A humourless smile curved his lips. Wilson.

.

"House," Wilson called. His mind flashed back frenetically to all the times he'd witnessed House at death's door. Never, ever, had any of it been with a clear, purposeful intention to end his own life permanently. House had overdosed before. He had self-induced insulin shock. He'd put a knife in an electric outlet. But he'd always done these things making sure that help was close at hand. House may be self-destructive, but he had _always_ meant to live.

Did he mean to die now?

"You may want to stand back a bit further," House called down. "Don't want to get any blood and guts on your suit."

"Get down, House," Wilson shouted.

"Which way?" House quipped, but climbed back down from the balcony railings. There he remained until Wilson climbed up the fire escape and stood beside him. They were silent for a long time, looking out at the lawn and the sky.

"Want to get that drink now?" Wilson asked.

.

They drove to a local bar.

Wilson tacitly understood that the episode on the railings was not to be mentioned. Was House really going to commit suicide? Who knows. Maybe even House himself didn't know. But Wilson couldn't take that chance.

"Why don't you move in with me?" he asked. "At least til you get back on track."

House looked at him. "What an ego," he sneered. "You think you're an emotional paragon? You're my rock?"

Wilson looked away. "I'm trying to be a good friend."

"At least I have the good sense not to marry every woman I fall into bed with." House considered him. "Maybe _you_ should move in with me."

"Either way," Wilson supplied immediately. "If you prefer…"

"I would prefer we stop talking about this."

"House, we haven't even started talking about this, except to establish the fact you are fine, which you clearly aren't!"

"_Leave me alone!" _House shouted into space.

There was a silence. Then Wilson said determinedly, "No."

House looked at him in amazement.

"We are going to talk about this," Wilson said firmly, "And we're going to deal with this."

House pondered Wilson for a while. Then he said, "The way _you_ deal with things is to nurse disabled cats. Forgive me if it isn't my brand of therapy of choice."

"I can get rid of the cat," Wilson said immediately.

"Interesting," House said. "So _I'_d become your disabled cat. No thank you." His phone rang. House looked at the caller ID and pressed Ignore. "It's Taub," he said in reply to Wilson's look of askance.

"Why don't you answer it? They probably have the test results back," Wilson said.

House leaned back in his chair. "The fact that they are calling me means that the test results are negative, or some new symptoms happened to disprove the first theory. The next step is to do an MRI to see where the damage is. From that, they could narrow it down to two or three choreiform diseases that they could easily test for. Unless the chorea is a complication of an autoimmune disorder, in which case they would also do blood tests."

"So you are leaving them to fend for themselves?" Wilson asked, worried. House not engaged in a new case is an even worse sign than him going back on Vicodin, or even standing on that balcony railing.

"I probably wouldn't have answered that call anyway."

Wilson looked at House, shocked at the implication that if he hadn't been there at the right time, House would've been dead at this point. Then he saw House's mouth twist into a grim smile. "Relax, Wilson. I wouldn't have done it."

"Cuddy still loves you, you know," Wilson said.

"She still loves me…but she won't be with me…" House took a deep drink out of his glass. "Should write a blues song about that one."

Wilson could feel the hurt radiating off his friend. He was torn. In some ways, he was inclined to be furious at Cuddy for abandoning House and leaving him so vulnerable. Once she took on the responsibility for his happiness, she had the power to utterly destroy him. But on the other hand, it was not fair to ask Cuddy to take care of an emotionally-stunted, difficult, over-grown child when she had a real kid to think of.

"Let's go home," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

_Sorry this is a short one, but I don't think I'll have time to write until after the season finale (too busy crying over Liz Friedman's interview)...so I wanted to get this one in before "In the Chute" airs. This is from Cuddy's perspective, and I hope it makes everyone feel marginally better...or worse, I don't know. Please leave a review!_

* * *

Cuddy had not seen House in two days, for which she was grateful. The next day after their breakup, she had spent half an hour dabbing makeup onto her eyes so that nobody would be able to tell that they were swollen with crying. But _he_ would've seen through it. And she didn't know how she would behave.

She was pretty sure she would always love him, for as long as she lived. But love alone was not enough to maintain a relationship. They were just two people who could never fit together. What she needed in a relationship was what he could never give, no matter how hard he tried.

Cuddy knew full well what she had done. House's team hadn't seen him past the morning of that first day, when he had fired Masters. This was predictable. Masters was on the team at Cuddy's behest, and she had been a moral check for House. House was getting rid of both at one stroke: typical of his destructive pattern of behavior.

She knew that House probably believed that he could never find anyone else again. But she also knew he did not realize that it was the same for her. She had been engaged to _Lucas_, who was the closest any man could get to House's genius without having his issues. In other words, Lucas was her best bet at a secure, happy life. And she'd gotten rid of him because she loved House. Since she doubted she'd ever stop loving House (force of habit, you know), how could she love any other man again?

_You will always be the most incredible man I've ever known._ Her mouth twisted down as she remembered her own words. It was true, even now. She was so optimistic at the time; she truly believed that all his faults did not matter. But in the end, they did. A small crack in a giant cement structure could bring the whole thing crashing down in an earthquake. And an earthquake was what had happened.

She had a horrifyingly clear vision of the future: House dies of an overdose, or liver failure, or in an accident. Wilson gets married to his fourth wife. And she…maybe she would marry, too. But she would still be lonelier than ever.

Instead, Cuddy chose to focus on an alternate vision. It was absurd, but it made her smile:

House, Wilson and her at age eighty, liver-spotted and dried up, at a retirement home together. They would sit on the porch in rocking chairs, reminiscing about old times. Rachel would visit twice a month.

Maybe then she could reach across, and hold House's hand.


End file.
